At The Crossroads Of Dreams
by Samayel
Summary: Crossover: HPWraeththu. Harry is in love, but Draco is his public enemy and knows nothing of Harry's feelings. Harry seeks advice through mysticism, seeking out the Crossroads Of Dreams where a teacher will await him. HarryDraco preslash.


DISCLAIMER: Warning ! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, or Storm Constantine's, and I am in no way profiting by this. I do offer them my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play.

A/N: This fic is a special gift to Calanthe, who writes an excellent fic by any standard, and who has an appreciation for another favorite author of mine, Storm Constantine. This is a one-shot crossover involving the character from whom Calanthe drew her name. I strongly recommend the Wraeththu Trilogies to anyone who is fond of slash fan fiction. You will rarely find a better written, more erotically charged series of books!

At The Crossroads Of Dreams…by Samayel

Harry sat in the library…after midnight…again. Dreams were the problem, and just maybe the solution, too. He had a long history of sleeping poorly, thanks to the scar that bound him to his enemy, but things had only grown worse as he grew older. With Occlumency, Voldemort was no longer a problem, but adolescence was cruel, and Harry had other things disturbing his sleep these days.

Draco Malfoy. Ever since they'd met, they'd been at odds. On the train, on the pitch, in the halls and classes. Always quarreling and tangling, never a minute's peace between them. That in itself hadn't been so bad, until last year.

It had been almost two years since Harry's subconscious had betrayed him. Two years of dreaming of Malfoy's angry pout shifting into a sultry smile. Dreaming of the chance to muss that perfect hair, and of tasting that alabaster skin. Harry knew he was gay, and that was all well and good, but what kind of demented bastard would fancy Malfoy?

Harry had taken to reading late, which improved his studies a bit, but it was hard to keep up when he was exhausted during classes. With their seventh year finals looming in front of them, Harry was getting desperate. He needed healthy natural sleep, and potions like Dreamless Sleep could be addictive. More importantly, he needed to know what to do.

His obsession with Draco had long been held in check, but at the price of Harry's own happiness. He'd never told anyone, never admitted his feelings, never shared his heart's desires with another. His friends would go ballistic, and Malfoy…well, Malfoy was an unknown quantity.

It was well known that Malfoy was gay, that wasn't the issue. It was a question of whether any kind of peace between them could last for more a few minutes. If he said what he felt, Malfoy could easily use it against him, and that was a horrifying thought.

The notion of talking to a neutral party was a good one, but who? Harry couldn't imagine explaining this to any of the adults he trusted. Not Hagrid, certainly not Remus, and definitely not McGonagall! No one he knew seemed right. He'd wanted a truly dispassionate observer, and not one that would leave him blushing and stammering while he spoke.

It was a vague reference to a legend that brought him here. Firenze had once mentioned a Crossroads of Dreams in Divinations Class. Apparently, it was a place where all subconscious minds could meet, and where a well prepared dreamer could find answers to questions that had long eluded their conscious mind. All universes, all times, were one in that sacred space, and someone who could act as a mediator would come to the dreamer in need. It sounded exactly like something Harry needed, but how to make it happen?

Hogwarts reference library was enormous. Harry had been reading a book every few nights for the last year, in hopes of finding more information on that legend. Only veiled references had presented themselves thus far, and Harry was growing weary of looking.

The latest book was a weighty and mildewed tome titled, "The Dreamlands: The Realms Of Morpheus". It was a ponderous text, full of old language that baffled Harry, but he was able to make out enough of it to know he was on the right track. There was no index or glossary, and so he just scanned page after page, hoping the word 'crossroads' would leap out to him. Two hours and nine chapters later, it did just that.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. In front of him was an entire chapter on The Crossroads Of Dreams, and a complete description of the ritual to enter it! Finally! Not the slightest bit ashamed, Harry packed the book into his bag without formally checking it out, since that would clearly prove that he was out past curfew. He slipped under his cloak and, safely hidden, moved through the halls with cautious steps, unwilling to risk being caught while this close to his goal.

Gryffindor dorms for seventh-year students were somewhat more spacious, and Harry, not one for extravagance, lived in a clean and spartan little room that held his few belongings. At least he would have privacy for this ritual. Last year he'd still been sharing a room with Ron, who snored like a dragon and muttered in his sleep incessantly. That wasn't really so awful, but the occasional references to Hermione that sprang unbidden from Ron's sleeping mind were more than Harry could take.

Door locked and warded behind him, Harry pored over the text with tired eyes, soaking up the precious knowledge that would make his goal a reality. It seemed that everyone who had ever cast the incantation and made the journey, slept the night through, and remembered everything. The accounts of journeys were each unique, representing the needs and minds of the casters. There was no way to tell what he would experience, but he was supposed to find a guide, or mentor, who would help him pick apart his problems without judging him. That would have to be good enough.

Harry got into his pajamas, hoping that, if nothing else, the good night of sleep would still be his. He laid his glasses by the bedside, lifted his wand and pointed at his own head, then rattled off the incantation.

Utter darkness consumed him. He felt fully conscious, and yet there was no sense of any form, shape or substance to the world around him. Just an empty void, with the bodiless wisp of his spirit drifting idly. Had he done the spell wrong? He might have panicked, if he'd had the body to panic with. As it was, all he could do was feel vaguely concerned.

Harry concentrated hard, imagining a road that would take him where he needed to go. When he glanced outward again, he found himself floating above a dirt road, surrounded by rolling hills and green grass. He had a body, of sorts, and could see arms and hands and legs that looked like his own, but realized he was still wearing pajamas, and somehow, he'd wound up wearing his glasses, even though he remembered leaving them on the nightstand.

He had nothing better to do at the moment, so he simply walked, letting the road decide where he went. Aside from blue skies and long fields of grass, there was only the endless road in front of him. He wasn't really tired, but he was growing restless, since a dream about walking endlessly was no immediate help to him.

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on what he thought a crossroad would look like. On opening his eyes, he found a crossroad, just as he imagined it, not more than a hundred yards ahead of him. A minute later, four endless roads were splayed out in front of him, and he stood alone at the corner, a wind of dreams lightly tousling his hair.

When he concentrated, things changed, that much was clear. He felt a bit sheepish, not being one for commanding his environment to suit his whims, but it seemed like the only way to move things along. Harry closed his eyes again, and this time he thought of his guide. Who would answer his questions? Who would help him sort through the tangled mess that was his desire for Draco? He was still concentrating when a vaguely amused voice interrupted him.

"Interesting…I don't recall dreaming of human boys since…well, since I was one myself. Hmmph. Let's have a look at you, love."

The voice belonged to a man, or perhaps a woman, only a few feet away from him. The chest was flat, so it must be a man, but the face was beautiful, the hips shapely, yet strong, the set of the shoulders a hair different than anyone he had ever seen. His body was compact, yet lean and muscular, and just an inch or so taller than Harry. The man's hair was a yellow mess that managed to look artful even when mussed, and the smirk that played at the corner of his lips was unnervingly similar to the one Draco so often sported. It seemed to shout 'I know more than you, and I think your ignorance is quite amusing.'

"Cat got your tongue? Crossroads of dreams, right? You'd be a questioner, I'd be here for answers. You're a bit of a shy one. I'm surprised you made it this far if you can't be a bit more forward than this. Still, if you had all the answers, we wouldn't be here now, would we?"

Harry's tongue felt heavy. It was rather akin to talking to Draco. This was supposed to be a neutral party he could talk to?

"You're not human?" That was all he could think to ask.

"Formerly human, thank you. I moved forward, no offense. Wraeththu are a just a step ahead on the evolutionary ladder. I might as well tell you that we're more than a little psychic, otherwise you'll be wondering how I know so much and asking questions rapid fire all night. We have time, but not so much that I feel like wasting it."

"Wraeththu?"

"Mutant offshoot of humanity. Where I come from, mankind is almost gone. Those who didn't change, by choice or…otherwise, well...they didn't last. Nothing that new really, a few million years and it's always been evolve or die. I'm guessing your next question by that blush on your cheeks, and the answer is yes and no. I'm not really male or female anymore, I'm both. Wraeththu are hermaphroditic. Anyhow, we're not really here to talk about me…despite the fascinating nature of that subject. How do you feel about something a little more comfortable as environments go?"

Harry nodded assent, feeling horribly awkward and gangling next to the smoothly confident youth beside him. His guide closed his eyes for only a moment, and the world spun around Harry for a second, giving him a case of vertigo for just a few seconds. By the time he righted himself, he was standing in a comfortable den, complete with large old chairs and a roaring fire. His guide gracefully plopped into one of the chairs and placed his feet in front of the fire, then motioned for Harry to do the same.

"I used to live here. Convenient that the dreamlands allow me to be here again. I was happy in this house. I learned a lot of things here. I miss it. I gave birth to my first child a few rooms away from this one. He's grown now, lives here off and on. Unfortunately, I live an ocean away, and frankly, we don't talk as much as we ought to. Don't stand on ceremony for me. Go ahead and talk, love. I get enough formality at home."

"What should I call you?"

"It's been so long since someone didn't know my name! Calanthe. Cal, if you like. And I should call you?"

"Harry. I suppose I should say thank you. It didn't really occur to me that someone might be hijacked from their own dreams. I'm sorry if I interrupted you." Harry couldn't help but blush under Calanthe's scrutiny. Despite his casual pose, Calanthe had a gaze like a merchant's scale, weighing and appraising everything. It was terribly nerve rattling.

"Look at that blush. There shine the cheeks of a virgin in love!" Cal had a laugh that was genuine yet sardonic, and Harry blushed deeper than ever. "Oh, Harry. Relax. That wasn't an insult, it's just been a long time since I was young and innocent…well relatively innocent, at least. Hmmph. I see some of your problem already. Unless I miss my guess, which, by the way, I rarely do, you are very much in love with someone and you aren't sure what to do about it." Cal held up his hand before Harry's protest even left his lips.

"Drop the act, love. You wouldn't even be here if you didn't take this seriously. You're just clinging to all that delicious angst to avoid having to admit what you really feel. Face it. Live it. You feel more alive than ever when you're near that special someone. You can't get through a day without thinking of them for good or ill, and you know it. Don't look all surprised! I'm psychic, and I haven't got all your little hang-ups about using it, either. I feel a little something else in there, too. He doesn't know how you feel at all, does he? Tell me about him."

Harry was still reeling. Many people profess psychic talent, but being read so easily was rather frightening. He actually welcomed the chance to talk about Draco as an opportunity to escape the discomfort caused by the word love. It was still hard to look Cal in the eyes when he spoke, though.

"His name is Draco. Draco Malfoy. We've pretty much been absolute rivals since our first year of school together. Different houses, different teams, different classes and even opposite sides of a war that's on the edge of breaking out any minute. He offered me his hand as a friend when we were just kids, but he was so obnoxiously rich and mean and pretentious that I wouldn't take it. We've done nothing but argue ever since. He hates people for not being magic soaked purebloods, he insults my friends and my house at every opportunity, and he schemes and plots and cheats every chance he gets, usually with the goal of sticking it to me in some way." Harry sighed and sipped at the drink he'd been offered. It was warm, fiery, and soaked right through his dream-body in a weird glaze of heat. He looked at his feet and gathered the last of his thoughts.

"He's also beautiful, talented, and smart, and his laughter is like music when he really means it and he isn't just being a prat. I can't stop dreaming about him, and it's been almost two years. Sometimes…sometimes I see him staring at me, and I wonder what he's thinking. Then he sees me looking back and he just sneers and starts insulting me again. The hardest part has been the last year. I mean, fuck all, I'm seventeen. I wank off when I need to, but sometimes, a lot of the time, he pops into my head while I'm trying to have one off. My friends hate him, his father works for an evil creature who wants me dead, and most of his friends would attack him on sight if they found us together doing anything but trying to kill each other. That's most of it in a nutshell." Harry took a deep breath. Fuck, was it ever good just to have said all that out loud for once!

Cal sipped his drink and smiled gently. "Let me get this straight, if you'll pardon the use of that word, given our circumstances. The one you want is: impossibly gorgeous, knows it, and is used to being the center of all attention, expects things to go his way at all times, is spoiled rotten and a cantankerous little bitch when he's thwarted in any way, AND despite all of that, he seems to drift into conflict with you even when there isn't much of anything to gain from it, because, for some reason, that's better to him than not interacting with you at all?"

Harry nodded, seriously wondering where this was going.

Cal broke out into laughter and needed several seconds to compose himself. "Fucking Crossroads of Dreams sure can pick them! They did right dropping you off with me. God, if only you could meet my Pell. He was always beautiful, loved, wanted and destined for greatness. Woe betide he who stepped on Pell's toes when his mind was made up. He was only a little younger than you when we met, and he was already a handful then! I suppose I have a lot of experience dealing with imperious, bitchy, gorgeous and dangerous lovers. I'm thinking that just maybe you'd be hard pressed to find anyone, anywhere, who has more experience in that department than me."

"Harry, I think it's fairly obvious that both of you 'spark' when you're near each other. I suspect the two of are just a little too much alike in certain ways, and that makes being around each other without conflict really difficult. Things like pride, insecurity, status, not to mention the good old human urge to establish dominance. Since I'm talking to you, I expect you to be the bigger man about these things. If you want this, and I mean really, really want this, you're going to have show it in a way that he can't brush off. You might even get hurt trying. I hope you can handle that, but I suspect it's necessary."

"You strike me as a very sweet boy. I expect you try much too hard to please everyone else, and you don't try nearly hard enough to please yourself. You've got to let go of a little of that and reach out for what you want, otherwise, it may be a long time before you find some happiness. It took almost a human lifetime for Pellaz and I to find each other again, and some of what we went through was pure hell. Our kind have time, and quite a bit of it. I'm almost a hundred years old now, and still going strong, but you my dear, you are human, and the time you have is limited. If you don't act, and act wisely, it may be too late before you know it. Then the time you have left is given over to regrets. And, honestly, you seem much too good a kid to wind up with a fate like that."

Harry let his mind soak up what he'd just been told. His imagination was still reeling from certain parts of the conversation. Did he love Draco Malfoy enough to risk injury or humiliation just to prove it? Did he really want to risk leaving something that kept him awake nights for the last two years unresolved for the rest of his life? He was sipping liquor in the dream-parlor of a century old, psychic, mutant hermaphrodite, whose elegant yet comfortable mannerisms were disturbingly similar to Draco's. It was a lot to take in all at once.

"Cal?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"What about the war? He's at least partly tied to, or allied with, people who are absolutely evil. My side is fighting to save a lot of people from being killed outright or tortured, and his family is tied to the people doing the killing. Do you really think we could get over something like that?"

"Hmm. Tough, to be sure, but not impossible. Let me tell you a little about good and evil, Harry. They're bound a lot closer than you might think. Sometimes people commit terrible crimes in the name of good, and sometimes the finest acts of self sacrifice and giving are blacklisted as evil. Pellaz and I were technically on opposite sides for a long time. I can be candid enough to say that I made some mistakes that only I could forgive myself for, they were too terrible for anyone else to absolve. We were both manipulated, but I killed a friend over losing Pell, and he made someone who utterly adored him suffer for the awful crime of not being me. Which of us was good? Which was evil? Truth, or as close as anyone can ever come to it, is that both of us are shades of each. Everyone is. Somewhere in your young friend-to-be's heart, he's wondering what he should do next, and making it up as he goes along. Perhaps the way he's gone about it was wrong, but if you write him off for making choices different than yours, well…you've done him an injustice as cruel as any he could dish out. Don't let it stop you. It might take a lot to convince him that you really do want him, and not just his alliance or his body. Be blunt, be consistent, and above all, be persistent. It will pay off."

Harry smiled and leaned his head back against the heavily padded chair, closing his eyes and savoring the sense of hope that was filling him.

"Tell me what he looks like, Harry. I want to hear your voice as you describe him." Cal's voice was almost hypnotic. Strangely calm, with just a hint of firm insistence, as though the possibility of being disputed hadn't even occurred to him.

Harry kept his eyes closed and remained still in the comfortable old chair while he answered. "Blond. His hair is white blond. It's so fine and smooth it looks like it couldn't tangle or curl even if he wanted it to. His skin is perfect. No scars, no moles, no freckles or birthmarks. Just pale, clean, healthy pink skin. His eyes are like ice or clouds. They're light grey and, even though it sounds impossible, they seem like they're on fire when he's angry. He has the most perfect lips I've ever seen. Not full or thin, but just right, even when he sneers or smirks. The same for his nose, it doesn't stand out in any way, it just seems to fit perfectly on him. We're nearly the same height, but he's a bit thinner, and when he walks, it's like he…he sort of saunters like he doesn't give a damn about anyone or anything. He'd walk the same way on the way to hell, as he would going to heaven. Everything about him makes me want to touch him, kiss him, hold him until he actually believes I want him. I…I think I love him, Cal. I don't really know what that is, but I think I love him." Tears were forming at the corners of Harry's eyes while he spoke.

"A lot of people don't know what love is, Harry. Some wouldn't know it if it bit them on the ass and asked for change. Love is everything; in fact, it's very nearly the only thing. When you speak of him, it sounds like worship. I can't tell you what love is, but I can tell that you're starting in the right place. I also think you might just be ready to face the world. Feel up to having a good night's sleep?"

"Yeah, actually, I do." Harry felt wonderfully calm. Maybe he didn't have answers, maybe the problems were still in front of him, but at least he knew them now, and he had a sense of what was possible that had eluded him for nearly two years. He stood up, feeling better in dreams than he had felt in the waking world for the last two years.

"Cal? I won't ever see you again, will I?"

"I'm afraid not, love. That's just the way these things work. I've done my part, and you'll wake up with a memory of the things you need to know. As for me, I get to wake up in our suite in Phaonica, curled up with Pell and Caeru. It isn't important for me to remember this, so it doesn't seem likely that I will. Don't worry for it, though. Wherever you are, I'll be wishing you well, if only in the shadow of a half-forgotten dream."

"Thanks. Thank you. I really mean that, Cal. I was a mess about this for a long time, and I don't think I could have worked this out alone. I just wish I could tell you how it all turns out." Harry had the unnerving urge to hug his dream-mentor, but he held it in check, still a properly reserved Brit right down to his bones. Harry's eyes spoke volumes, though, and Cal's piercing eyes missed nothing.

Cal stepped forward and took the initiative, pulling Harry into a gentle embrace and tousling his already mussed hair. Harry was stiff with discomfort for a second, unused to any affection or closeness, but he relaxed after a few seconds and found it almost unbearably pleasant to be so intimate with another person, especially one as weirdly beautiful and friendly as Cal.

The Wraeththu took a half step back, and looked Harry in the eye. "Here's a little something for the ride home, just to remember me by. In your world, it's just a kiss, which is magical enough on its own. In mine, we call it 'the sharing of breath', and you can taste another's soul. My virgin-seducing days are done, and that's not what you're here for, anyway, but, if you were among my kind, you would be thought of as beautiful, Harry, and I think you need to believe that before anyone else can see it. Kisses between Wraeththu and humans aren't quite the same, but I suspect I can shape the dream a little to make it similar. I'm not just doing this to say goodbye. I'm doing this because, in your own way, you're as fine as my Pellaz, and I wish we could have met under different circumstances. Alright, love?"

Harry nodded his assent, feeling terribly uncomfortable all over again. Praise always made him blush, and frankly, no one had ever called him beautiful. To Harry's way of thinking, he was still a skinny, knobby kneed freak from Privet Drive, and even the close warmth of Cal couldn't erase that thought.

Then Cal's lips were against his own, and the world swirled behind Harry's eyes. He sensed colors, azure and crimson, and tasted the smell of ozone after a lightning strike and the scent of cornfields in summer's lazy heat. He felt like the wind was blowing against him, even though he was still and quiet, melting into that long and skillful kiss.

Harry couldn't remember saying farewell. He couldn't even remember the end of that kiss. He woke a few minutes before his alarm was due to go off. He woke gently, utterly at peace in a way he'd never felt before, and every second of his dream was still with him. He showered and dressed with a quiet confidence that was entirely out of place in his traditional daily routine. A good night's sleep really could work miracles!

Advanced Potions ended, and, as fate would have it, Draco wasn't surrounded by the usual cluster of sycophants and Slytherin hangers-on. Yesterday, Harry never would have dared. Today, he almost couldn't control his own tongue for the hunger to speak.

"Draco." Harry said it without any emotion. It was more an acknowledgement than an invitation to conversation. Still, being called by his given name, respectfully, by Harry Potter, threw Draco off his guard instantly. His icy eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"What did you just call me, Potter? I wasn't aware we were ever on a first name basis!" Those perfect lips curled into a sneer, but Harry wasn't rattled, or intimidated in any way this time.

"Maybe not, but we should be. I'm going to say this here and now, and then it's really up to you. I was wrong when I refused to take your hand on the train six years ago. I'm not giving a free pass for everything you've ever done, but I am saying that I was wrong, and I'm sorry. I realized a while ago that I've been blaming you for a lot of things that are out of your control or that just have nothing to do with you, and I feel like I let that stop me from knowing someone worth taking the time to understand. Maybe it means nothing to you, and maybe it's too late to be saying this, but if it isn't, I'd like to start over again. Draco Malfoy, I'm Harry Potter, and it's nice to meet you." Harry held out his hand to a gob-smacked Draco and waited, smiling from ear to ear.

Draco was too stunned to do anything but look around the hall for witnesses or possible attackers. There just had to be a catch somewhere. Harry Potter didn't just shake hands with the person he hated most in the world…did he? When no plots revealed themselves, and that hand was still in front of him, practically accusing him of cowardice, Draco relented. With eyes that still looked puzzled and flinty, he shook Harry Potter's hand for the first time, wondering idly if the Golden Boy had been sniffing too many potion fumes. Even so, seven years was a long time to carry any grudge, and if Potter wanted to step forward and ditch the past, Draco had no objections. Besides, it wasn't as if Potter was gay, or available, or romantically interested in a certain Slytherin Seeker who couldn't make it through a hot shower without wanking furiously to thoughts of the Boy-Who-Lived. The only perk in it was that they wouldn't be literally at odds every day, and that might be a refreshing change of pace from usual. After all, it might be a lot easier to have a decent wank over your favorite untouchable fantasy, if you could plan on not having to hurl insults at him a few hours later.

--------------------------------------------------

ONE MONTH LATER:

It took a lot of work on Harry's part, but he coaxed the best from Draco with a patience that might well have been the stuff of legends. There was no question that Draco still didn't trust him, but given their past, Harry wasn't asking him to, or judging him for not doing so right away. Harry was just being Harry, and it was working out well. Well enough to put them in the Shrieking Shack with a spot of lunch and a bottle of good wine. When the food was gone and the conversation had slowly waned into long and awkward pauses, Harry showed his Gryffindor colors, and dared to reach for his dreams.

Their first kiss seemed to last forever, and even that was too short. Draco melted into a kiss that was more sincere than he could have imagined, and more passionate than he had ever expected. When they finally parted for a moment's breath, Draco opened his eyes rather dreamily and looked at Harry with just a little awe.

"Lightning, you taste like lightning…and summer corn, Harry."

Harry smiled and met those perfect lips again. Somewhere, out there in the multi-verse of dreams and possibilities, he knew Cal must be laughing.

FIN


End file.
